


A New Reality

by silent_today



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Embedded Images, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_today/pseuds/silent_today
Summary: Antoine Griezmann walks through life with a confidence that comes from a rock solid belief in his good looks , charm and most of all talent. To many people it comes across as arrogance, but to the young Frenchman? It's just who he is. Lionel Messi plans to change that.
Relationships: Antoine Griezmann/Lionel Messi, Frenkie de jong/Antoine Griezmann
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback appreciated and let me know if I should continue!

Barcelona was not like any club Antoine Griezmann had played for before. At other clubs you could make mistakes, you could take time to adjust – you could be human. At Barca, no. From day 1 the very best was demanded and if it was not met, all too soon you found yourself on a long list of players who weren’t quite good enough. Failures. Antoine had known this when he joined and had sworn to himself that he would be the player he knew he could be, that he would join the list of heroes. And yet, just a few months into his foray at the top of world football, he found himself in a position he had never been in before. He was failing. And he didn’t understand why. Ever since his life had begun success had come easily to Antoine, as naturally as breathing. Blessed with good looks and an effortless charm, a confidence bordering on arrogance was all he had ever known. When he played football at a young age he had always stood apart from the rest- the prodigious talent he possessed marking him for great things. When he was scouted by Real Sociedad, he had never doubted he would be one of the few to be selected to take the next step. When he broke into the first team, he quickly became the star player and a leader among his teammates. The same held true as he moved to Atletico Madrid. And so, when the time came to join Barca, he knew – he would succeed, the fans and the players alike would quickly come to see him as the integral part of the team that Antoine has dreamed of being a part of since he had first seen the magic of Barcelona on tv as a young boy.  
*******  
Antoine’s legs burned as he hurled himself up the pitch towards the opposing team’s goal, he turned his head for the briefest of moments and saw the black and white patched ball at the feet of the magnetic Lionel Messi. His heart leapt in childish excitement, the sight of the famous star bearing in the same colours as him still hard to believe. The great player worked his magic and in a flash of skill danced past the desperate defenders to draw level with Antoine. The black-haired master looked up and saw his path blocked, with Getafe colours scrambling to get between him and the goal, even he couldn’t score from there. But Antoine had found a hole in the defensive line, the opposition – so eager to mark the greatest in the world- had left him open, and now he had a clear, tantalising shot on goal- he couldn’t miss from here. His heart pounded in his sweat drenched chest as adrenaline filled his veins.  
“Leo!” his voice called out, filled with excitement at the golden opportunity. Messi’s dark eyes locked onto Antoine, sending the Frenchman’s hope rocketing as victory seemed all but certain. With one elegant flick the ball had left the magicians feet, soared through the blue sky to land at the feet of the newly arrived Luis Suarez. The Uruguayan was deadly in front of the goal, Antoine knew that of course, but he was surrounded by the crimson shirts of the defending team and his doomed shot inevitably spun high into the air for a goal kick. Antoine’s heart plummeted in disappointment as his face burned in humiliation at being ignored so blatantly. In his mind he told himself that Messi must have not seen he was free, that he would have passed to him if he had, but deep down he was filled with the dread of certainty- his team’s Captain and greatest player had seen him, but had chosen against trusting and against believing in his new teammate, to the point that he had risked losing and jeopardising their whole season. For the rest of the game Antoine kept his head down, his legs filled with the lead of disappointment and shame. It was one thing to play badly, but to be thought so little of by the great Lionel Messi that he was kept out of the game – the thought struck Antoine like a wall of icy water. When the ball finally came to him late in the game it was in front of a wide-open goal, but his shot was as a feeble as his teammate’s belief in him, his spirit flattened by his teammate’s actions. The ball was scooped up with ease by the goalie, who even took the time to flash the young player a smirk of derision. Antoine fixed his eyes on the torn-up green of the pitch, as boos filled the air.  
The game finished 0-1. They had lost, and Antoine had barely touched the ball. Heavy hearted, he forced himself to shake the victor’s hands and mumble polite congratulations. Every bit of him longed to run from the accusing eyes of the away fans- those that had stayed to the end- and to seek the privacy of the locker room. But even there he would face the quiet disappointment of his new team. Antoine knew they would say words of encouragement, but he dreaded the false look in their eyes that would accompany their hollow words. Losing brings out the worst in people, and he knew that many of his teammates would be wondering why he had been on the pitch, when he had done nothing to help the team. This was not the first time that Antoine had been a disappointment on the pitch in his new shirt, in fact, ever since his nine figure transfer, it was hard to think of a single occasion where he had performed anything above adequately. In his head , Antoine told himself that it must be a problem with him, that he was not trying hard enough or that he was simply not accustomed to the new style of play, but in his increasing downtrodden heart he had other suspicions. Ever since he arrived at the club his teammates had been distant, cold even, but given how Antoine had been rivals with them years this was not unexpected, what the Frenchman had never expected was that they would sabotage him on the pitch, at great cost to the team itself. Of course, he could not prove this, and frequently he told himself that he was being paranoid. Yet it weighed heavily on the young player as he stood centre pitch, surrounded by the hostile crowd on all sides, feeling very alone even as his teammates walked by.  
Antoine dragged himself over to the away fans and joined his teammates in applauded the fans who had stayed till the end of the sad display. Barcelona’s manager, Ernesto Valverde, walked up the line of players, distributing consoling back pats and hair ruffles. He came to stand close by Antoine. Valverde’s strong hand clasped his shoulder and his aging lips twitched into a comforting smile. It did not reach his eyes. Antoine swallowed nervously as he saw the cold grey of disappointment in the Spaniards eyes.  
“A quick word in private when we go in?”. The older man phrased it as a friendly question- it was not one. Usually so cocksure, Antoine felt like he was a child again, waiting to be told off by the headmaster.  
“Yeah … um of course” stumbled the young Frenchman. Antoine watched his manager turn his back and walk away. He composed his face for the cameras but inside his stomach churned as though he had had a knife pressed to him, rather than the polite request of the suited man.  
The walk from the pitch to the locker room passed as a blur for Antoine. He found himself standing on dingy tiled floor of the away team’s locker room, reminiscent of however many school’s changing rooms. The away team’s coach had no office here, so Antoine numbly followed Valverde’s confident gait into a small storage room away from the rest of the team. The door closed and two were alone, with only a pile of rubber mats as company. Valverde turned slowly and fixed his shrewd eyes upon Antoine’s nervous frame.  
“It can take time. I understand that.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Which is why, until now, I have been patient. But time is running out Antoine. And when it does it will reflect on me as much it does on you. Do you understand that?”  
A nod was all Antoine could manage in reply. He didn’t trust his voice.  
“I hope so.” Continued his manager. “Because, if one of us is going to be blamed for this team’s failure, it won’t be me. Do you understand that?” Valverde’s tone had turned to thick anger, his eyes hard. The young Frenchman swallowed and tried to keep calm.  
“Yes. I know I need to be better. I will be better.” Antoine’s voice was quiet but earnest. Valverde’s eyes wondered across Antoine’s face before the older man nodded, apparently satisfied he had made his point.  
“Good. Impress me and this will be our last little chat. Ok?”  
Antoine forced a nod and a smile, but before he could muster a response the somewhat pacified manager swept from the room, leaving Antoine alone in the dim light. He stayed in the dark for several stunned minutes, vaguely contemplating the tatters of his dream that lay around him. The air was uncomfortably still, and the taste of stale sweat punctuated each breath, but he barely noticed as the dread of facing the team grew within him. Antoine had never been in a position like this before, and his mind was still filled with disbelief that it was happening. He shook his head. Failure was not an option. He would do whatever it took to succeed. With renewed determination Antoine exited the dingy storage room walked with back to the locker room, frustration growing in him at every step. Confirmation of his managers misgivings about him only made him doubt his bond with the team more.  
The musty room was empty as Antoine had expected. When a team loses no one sticks around for long. He headed over to his locker and pulled his fresh clothes and towel onto the nearby bench and grabbed his phone. The screen had several messages on it as it lit up but his tired eyes only paid attention to the short text from his wife.  
You were brilliant, as always xxx.  
Usually this would have put a smile on Antoine’s face but now, with his heart sunken, the well-intentioned praise only made him feel worse. He cast his phone aside carelessly as his fatigued mind turns toward a hot shower. The sweat that had soaked Antoine’s shirt during the match was now making the famous shirt cold and clingy, and he longed to be free of it. He pulled the garment over his head and chucked it in anger at the wall. It struck the tile with a satisfyingly loud thump. Antoine began to remove the rest of his kit, his body on autopilot, as his mind continued its spiral into panic at his situation. He hated this feeling of helplessness, the feeling that whatever he did would not make things better. Antoine was working as hard as he could- but no amount of hard work could create a bond between his teammates and himself that simply did not exist. As he undressed he vented furiously at his teammates and manager in a barely coherent low voice. Pulling the last of his sweaty clothes off, Antoine stopped his self-pitying mutterings and turned to head into the showers- and abruptly jumped into shock. Stood at the entrance to the changing room was Lionel Messi, fully dressed and showered, with an inscrutable expression on his face.  
Praying that Messi had not heard any of the less than flattering things he had been muttering, Antoine swept his towel from the bench to hide his naked body, as embarrassment blossomed across his face, before flashing a hopefully sincere looking smile onto his face.  
“Fuck, didn’t realise there was anyone else still here, Leo, you nearly gave me a heart attack dude” Antoine attempted a light-hearted tone. Messi’s expression did not match it. Clearly fresh from the showers himself, the player’s hair was still rife with water droplets and he was clad only in a tight black t-shirt and jeans, kit bag slung over his shoulder. The Argentine’s mysterious eyes swept across the room and settled on Antoine’s Barcelona shirt, crumpled unceremoniously on the other side of the room.  
“Not sure there’s a whole lot to smile about Antoine.” The voice, soft and deep, held more authority than any screaming crowd.  
Breath quickening, Antoine swallowed and tried to remain casual. “‘Course yeah, but gotta stay positive y’know?”.  
A twitch in the older man’s lips was the only response. Messi turned away, face hidden, and his voice sounded, once again void of affection, “What did Valverde want with you?”.  
Antoine’s heart sank further. “Not a lot, just checking how things are going you know…” he replied nervously, hoping that would be all the team captain would want to know.  
It was not.  
“And you said…?” Messi asked, an intense look in his eyes. “Well, I said things are good… that I’m settling in well and stuff…”. Antoine’s voice quietened towards the end of his sentence as the eye contact between the two extended uncomfortably. An abrupt bang broke the silence as the Messi allowed the kit bag slung across his shoulder to slide to the floor.  
“And are things ‘good’ Antoine?”. Without Antoine having noticed the older man had closed the distance between them and now stood within touching distance of the towel clad Frenchman. Antoine’s damp body unconsciously shied away from the muscular Argentine’s figure, and he became uncomfortably aware of his nakedness. He could smell the shower gel drifting of the well-muscled skin mere inches from his own. Overcome with rare vulnerability, his mind moved at a snail’s pace, and no reply came from his ajar lips.  
“I’m waiting, Antoine”. The voice, emanating mere inches away, was soft now, and barely louder than a whisper, and yet it held more power than any volume could have granted. Antoine struggled to formulate an answer- he didn’t know what Messi was doing, yes, it was true that there was no great love between the two of them, but here had never been open hostility-or whatever this was.  
“I – yes, well I think so-“. Antoine’s stumbling reply was cut off by the sudden presence of a long white finger pressed hard against his red lips. His lungs froze, as his heart-beat faster than ever before. Antoine’s mind was a frenzy now, as the other man stood so close, his finger pressing against the younger man’s mouth. His body didn’t know if it was going to be caressed or assaulted.  
“No, things are not ‘okay’” Messi softly replied, cold cruelness in his silken words. “You know why?” The famous voice was just a murmur now, so faint it would have been impossible for Antoine to hear, had there been more than a hair breadth separating the players. But Antoine did hear, and his wide blue eyes locked on the murky brown of his captain to hear the answer.  
“I don’t like you.”  
The four soft words struck Antoine like a blow from a charging bull and left him in pieces just the same. He had suspected that the global star that was his captain wasn’t fond of him, but he had told himself over and over that he could change that, that he could win over Messi, and with him salvage his career at Barcelona – his dream since he was old enough to kick a football. But if the Barca star truly held him in the contempt that he had filled those words with then he was finished. At Barca, Messi was more than a player, more than a captain – he was the heart of the club, held above all others by the fans, by the board, by the other players even. A word from him could turn them all irrevocably against him and leave him ruined at the club. And Barca was not just the club of Antoine’s dreams, although that reason alone was enough to leave him gasping at the thought of leaving in such disgrace, it was the club that he had risked everything for – alienated his former club and friends, and sold his integrity for when he made the move behind their backs. If he left Barcelona a failure, he would be a pariah of the footballing world, wanted by none but the desperate and doomed to finish his career forgotten. Antoine had to fix this.  
“I’m sorry if I’ve offende-“. This time Messi’s whole large hand slammed against Antoine’s now clammy white face, silencing the desperate plea that had barely started. His body started to shake unconsciously in fear at what was happening. He sucked air in desperately through his nose and gagged as the strong scent of the shower gel on the hand clasping his mouth filled his airways. The heat from the strong hand covering his face felt like it was burning Antoine’s pale skin, as Messi’s eyes burned into his.  
Anger present now, Messi growled “ You walk into my club, all arrogance and presumption, after the way you messed us around last year, and expect to be welcomed like nothing happened – to be treated like royalty?”. The grip on Antoine’s face was painful now and he strained slightly to get away from the rage radiating from the older mans body, but his back hit the wall of lockers behind and just like that he was trapped between cold metal and the malicious man holding him. “And you don’t even have the decency to play well” Messi sneered, almost as if it were an afterthought, and gave Antoine one last derisive look before abruptly lifting his from the Frenchman’s agape mouth and stepping away.  
With Messi gone, cold air rushed to surround Antoine’s near naked form, sending shivers across his bare body. He tried to order his thoughts and think of what to say, but panic was ablaze in his mind, burning away all coherent thought and leaving only the base emotions – fear, despair and desperation. Antoine’s cheeks burned red in humiliation as his mouth opened but no recognisable words came out, and he cast his glistening eyes to floor ashamed to meet the other man’s gaze, aware of the confusion and hurt that could be seen in them.  
With no argument or even plea coming from the slender man cowered in the corner of the locker room, Messi spoke.” I’m going to talk to the Coach and the board tomorrow to discuss your removal, okay Antoine?” His voice had taken a mocking, friendly tone now, as though he was discussing his weekend plans, not dismantling Antoine’s life in front of his eyes. He turned to leave, and with it went Antoine’s dignity and all he had wanted since he was a boy.  
“No, wait, please, Leo- “croaked the Frenchman, his voice sounding in instinct as desperation kicked in. “Please give me a chance, I’ll try harder, I’ll…, i’ll do anything…” Antoine pleaded breathlessly, his face full of sincerity as he plead for his career and dignity. He did not know what he the other man wanted, or what he could possibly give the man that he didn’t already have, but he had to try anything. Everything.  
“What exactly could you do for me, hm?” Messi inquired softly. “You have nothing I want” he continued as though informing an unusually slow individual of an obvious fact. Mind blank, Antoine had nothing but desperation to offer.  
“ I … I … I’ll do anything” Antoine whispered, his voice quiet and devoid of hope that any pity would be shown. In his mind he was already thinking of how he was going to tell his family that his Barca career was over, he knew that they would be heartbroken, even if they would never tell him. Disappointed faces swum before his eyes bringing tears with them.  
“Anything?” Messi’s voice brought Antoine sharply out of his self-pity and hope brought crystal-clear focus to his mind. He nodded quickly and opened his lips to respond but stopped at a raised hand from the other man, ordering him silent. He prayed for a way to save himself. Messi slowly moved back within touching distance of his dumbstruck teammate, his movements filled with cocky confidence.  
“Okay then” he murmured, with an almost predatory look in his eyes “What you can do for me Antoine - … is as you are told.”  
The younger mans face filled with slight confusion as he sensed the strange, almost seductive, tone that had been used, and his mind ran in circles trying to figure out what was being demanded off him. Increasingly aware that nothing but a thin towel separated him from being fully on display in front of Messi’s penetrating eyes, Antoine filled with trepidation as fears grew in his mind of what the mysterious man was planning for him. But he had no choice. A small nod was all the response that the Argentine needed to curl his lips into a sadistic smile.  
“Kneel.”  
The command came without warning. Antoine’s blue eyes widened in disbelief and he waited in vain hope for a sign that it had been a cruel joke. None came. Surely Messi was not thinking what Antoine feared, perhaps he just wanted to make him look foolish, to humble him. But the look in the callous dark brown eyes told Antoine the truth – there was no joke in them, only malevolence and a hunger that spoke of something that was far worse. The silence stretched on as Antoine stood in denial.  
“I’ll speak with Valverde now.” The Argentine turned and strode towards the exit, taking Antoine’s dreams with him. He could not let this happen. Whatever the cost.  
“Wait – okay I’ll do it!” he shouted out, far louder than he intended. Messi’s broad muscular figure turned slowly and fixed him with a cool, expectant gaze. Antoine swallowed, took a deep breath and brought his wild nerves to heel, and his eyes met his opponents. He lowered himself in surrender until he was kneeling on cold wet floor, his hair still sweaty from the match and his near nude body still streaked with mud – the very picture of defeat. Messi’s expression remained disdainful, but his dark eyes filled with a perverse joy at the sight of his teammate prostrate before him, and his muscular chest expanded as he took an appreciative breath.  
The older man moved forward, until once more the two where sharing the same space, the same air. Antoine’s heart hammered, so hard he was sure that Messi could see it through the flushed skin of his bare chest. He considered nervously exactly what his kneeling position meant was expected of him, so close to the other man he could smell the detergent on his dark denim jeans, and count the stitching covering his groin. Antoine did not know where to look, forward and his nose would be brushing his captain’s crotch, but to the side he risked angering the Argentine further, and then who knows what would happen. The decision was made for him as a powerful hand grasped his jaw and angled his face up towards ceiling. Antoine squinted his eyes half closed as the fluorescent ceiling lights blinded him and left him dazzled and disorientated. A hand lightly stroked his cheek as the first maintained its grip on his reddened face, the thumb tracing over his lips and forcing them open slightly as it followed their shape. Antoine searched for a clue as to what was happening in the looming face of his teammate, but the bright lights left Messi’s face in the shadow. Bewildered, the young player gave up and allowed his face to be fondled, as he prayed for the moment to end.  
As suddenly as he had been grabbed, Antoine was released, leaving him to gasp for breath and sway painfully on his knees as the pressure on his jaw vanished. Steadying himself, his gaze was drawn immediately towards the magnetic eyes of the man towering masterfully above him, eliciting deep simmering shame as he saw the mirth contained within. How in the world had his life come to this? But before he could find reason, something in the bottom corner of his eyes demanded Antoine’s attention like a fire in the night. Grasped in one strong hand of the Argentine was a battered old phone, angled down at the lean kneeling Frenchman in a terrifying manner.  
“Only as you are told, remember?” Messi spoke firmly, cutting off Antoine’s indignant protest. A fire blazed in Antoine eyes as anger blazed in his stomach and he started to climb back onto his feet, intent on reclaiming control, whatever the consequences.  
A firm, powerful hand halted him and sent his knees banging back into the hard, cold floor. Pain shot up Antoine’s legs, extinguishing the rage in him for the briefest moment as he shied away from the outstretched arm.  
“Before you do something you regret” softly spoke the owner of the muscular limb, “Take a look at yourself, and remember the situation you are in.” The words were filled with stern authority that Antoine found hard to disobey. His eyes turned towards the small phone screen that was now facing him and he saw himself as never before. Clad only in a small thin towel around a slender waist, the boy on the screen was kneeling so deep his rear was brushing his upturned heels, and his arms hung limply at his side leaving his mud streaked body bare for the world to see. The subservient figure’s body was streaked in mud and his hairline was damp with half-dried sweat. The face was void of any emotion except for his slightly parted red lips, which hung open in naïve boyish fashion. But worst of all were the eyes, blue and painfully wet, they shone with only the light that reflected off them, and in them was someone Antoine did not recognise. There was no fire or will in those wide eyes, only a submission and defeat that had never before existed in him.  
As the Frenchman kneeled, dumbstruck by the picture of himself that now belonged to his teammate, Messi pocketed his phone with a gleeful smile and reached out to playfully tousle the curly head of hair below him. Antoine stomach churned at the gesture, the kind you would give to cheeky child, not an adult, and certainly not one you respected.  
Without a word or so much as a glance back, Messi turned and strode from the room, leaving Antoine alone to adjust to his new reality. Minutes or maybe hours passed, and the burn in his legs intensified at his prolonged kneeling, but Antoine’s mind was numb and his body unresponsive, frozen by what had transpired. Eventually the young man staggered to his feet and began to dress, thoughts of showering forsaken in fear the Argentine might return. All he wanted was to get to the sanctuary of his home, away from this foreign stadium, so he could process in safety and privacy what had happened, Antoine knew that if he allowed himself to contemplate his situation now, he would be able to contain his emotion, and it would come pouring out, in tears or rage he did not know. But he knew that he wanted no one to know what had happened to him here.


	2. Chapter 2




End file.
